My Ariadne
by District4-divergent-nephilim
Summary: Kal's just a normal girl from District 1. Except that she doesn't want to be from District 1. She's sick of being 'dumb'. So when she volunteers in place of a small girl, she's set on proving that she's more than just Career fodder. But with a best friend who doesn't believe in her, a mentor who doesn't seem to care, and a surprisingly nice district partner, can she beat the odds?
1. Chapter 1

_"Ladies and gentlemen, let this year's Hunger Games begin!" the announcer crows. _

_I stand on my plate, trying vainly to see who stands on the plate next to me through the thick fog that covers the arena like a wool blanket. I instinctively reach for the knife in my pocket. We all have them. All twenty four of us tributes, that is. I was puzzled when I first reached into my pocket and pulled the blade, but now I can see why we were armed beforehand. _

_The plates ring the cornucopia closely. I'm only a few feet away from the mouth of the giant golden horn. And in that horn, there is nothing. Except piles of fruit. _

_Oh, how the gamemakers must be laughing. I am certain there are no swords or bows hidden under that pile of apples. _

_Then the gong rings, and the games begin. _

_I jump down from my plate instantly and run towards the person closest to me. Because of all this damn fog, I can't even tell if it's a boy or a girl. All I know is that they're about to die. _

_And that I'm going to kill them. _

_I tackle them to the damp ground. Guessing from their physique, it's a boy. The masculine grunt of pain they emit as they hit the ground only proves my theory. _

_When I finally gets the struggling boy under control, I press my knife to his throat. His eyes widen in pain. _

_His eyes. _

_"Kal? Get off me!" my district partner hisses. _

_"No can do, comrade." I flip my hair over my shoulder. "You see, you're my biggest threat in this competition. And I'm smart enough to know that it'd be wise to eliminate all threats as quickly as humanely possible." _

_"They'll know you did this, you know. When you get back, you'll be shunned." He gives a disgusted grunt. "Killing your district partner before the final two. Before even the final five. Disgraceful." _

_"They won't see it. No one can see anything through this fog. And who cares? I never really fit in back home anyway." I smile. "And they certainly won't be able to see this." I slice my knife across his throat as if I was cutting through bread. _

_His emerald green eyes glaze over, and his chest deflates. _

_"Shouldn't have underestimated me, you worthless piece of Career Academy crap." _

_Quickly wiping off the blood on my knife with my jacket, I stand up. Around me, the sounds of the bloodbath slowly die out. To complete the act, I stagger backwards and utter a very convincing terrified scream. _

_"No!" _

_My allies seem to appear from nowhere. "What's wrong?" the girl from District Two asks me. "Why are you-" she looks past me and sees the body. "Oh." _

_"How could this happen?" I fake weep. "He was so strong…" _

_"If it makes you feel better, we found some real weapons," says the girl from District Four. Her district partner wasn't part of the pack, so she doesn't yet know what it's like to "weep" over your partner's death. "On top of the cornucopia, of all places," she adds jokingly. "Here." She tosses me a crossbow, a weapon I can use but don't really prefer. A packet of bolts follow. _

_I give her what I hope is a weepy smile. _

_"Let's set out," the girl from Dsitrict Two says. "We've got weaklings to kill."_

No, _I think. I've_ got weaklings to kill.

_The others turn away from me and the body, slowly vanishing into the rapidly retreating fog. _

_I __load the first bolt into the crossbow and take aim at the head of the boy from District 2. He's the strongest, the hardest to take down. It's got to be him first. I calmly pull the trigger, watching as the bolt flies from the bow and into his brain. He falls to the ground, and a cannon booms. _

_"Aiden?" the girl says, sounding shocked. "What-" She looks back to see me loading another bolt into the crossbow, like I didn't kill someone merely seconds before. _

_"Why?" she asks, right before the bolt enters her head. Then she collapses, and says nothing more. _

_Two down, one to go._

_ "Hello?" I cry out helplessly to the girl from Four. "Did you just kill someone?" _

_"No. Did you?" Her voice sounds close. I start creeping silently towards it. _

_"No. Where are you?"_

_"Over here. Follow the sound of my voice."_

_Instead of coming at her head on, I sneak around behind her. Readying my knife, I silently lower myself to the ground, to the level in which my hand is level with her ankle._

_Then I slice through her Achilles' tendon, cutting through with one efficient stroke._

_Now she won't be able to walk. She falls to the ground, screaming and clutching at her ankle. In a flash, I am on top of her, pinning her to the ground and holding my knife to her throat._

_"You…" she gasps. "You betrayed us."_

_"Are you really that surprised?" I growl._

_"You're the one who killed your district partner, aren't you?"_

_"Yes, and I would do it again if I had the chance."_

_"But- but why?" She sounds so hurt; I almost decide to answer her nicely. Almost._

_"You and District 2 were so busy assuming that I was just another dumb bitch from District 1, but I am _so_ much more. And when the others see the faces of four careers in the sky tonight, they'll have the same realization that you did. That _I _am the one to watch out for. Difference is, _they_ will actually have time to be scared."_

_"District 1 will scorn you. You'll be an outcast"_

_"Why doesn't _anyone_ get that I already was? I'm not like them; I never will be. I will _never _lower myself to that level." I take a deep breath and calm myself. "Any last words?"_

_"Rot in hell, you backstabbing bitch."_

_"With pleasure," I say, as I drag the blade in my hand across her neck. I roll off her and give a triumphant whoop. Not even thblood getting under my perfectly manicured nails can bother me now._

_I look up at the sky, at the cameras that are broadcasting my victory all over Panem at this exact moment._

_"See, District 1? Proof that I don't belong with you is right in front of both of us. I'm not sure your average tribute is smart enough to carry out those kills, much less plan it for a week and a half ahead of time." I will get in _so_ much trouble when I get back to the Capitol, but I don't even care anymore._

_But when I turn around to set off to kill other tributes, a wall of extremely disgusting-smelling hair collides with me, and I tumble to the ground._

_I have just time to say, "What the hell?" before a dog's face explodes into my line of vision._

_"Crap," I say, as the dog mutt sniffs my face hungrily. It opens its bloody maw, revealing long, saber-like teeth, and-_

I bolt awake.

I almost scream, but I catch myself just in time, glancing at the glowing numbers on my digital alarm clock. 2:53 a.m.; if I had screamed, I would have woken up my entire family.

Why did I want to scream so badly, if what I was scared of was just a dream?

I had dreamed of the Hunger Games. If I was a victor of the games, having these dreams would be a normal occurrence, reliving the games in nightmares instead of dreaming good things.

But I am not a victor. I do not relive my experiences from the arena, because I do not _have_ any experiences from the arena.

No, I am scared because tomorrow- sorry, _today_, since it's 2:53 in the morning- is Reaping Day, and I'm scared that what I dream might happen to me in the near future.


	2. Chapter 2

At 4:01, I decide to get up and recolor the dye in my hair.

I grab a brand new bottle from under the sink in my bathroom, and I sit on the cold marble floor and read the instructions.

When I get to the warnings, I see this:

_ Warning: Exposure to extreme outdoor/weather conditions may _ _cause dye color to fade. Natural hair color may resurface._

If I dye my hair and then go into the arena, will my hair go back to blonde? If it does, then I better not do it.

What am I, crazy? I wasn't chosen to volunteer this year. I won't be on a train to the Capitol this afternoon.

When I'm done, I stand back and admire my chocolate brown hair in the mirror. Goodbye, blonde ditz hair, hello intelligence.

After that, I wash my face and put cream that helps keep my pores clear (not that I need it- I have no acne at all). Then I sit on the toilet and open the cabinet across from me.

Inside, there are rows and rows of makeup and nail polish. There's also a little section for different color contacts. Looking at the two shelves full of lipstick, I feel that tiny pang of regret I always feel whenever I open the cabinet.

Every year on my birthday, my mother buys me even more makeup. I never use it. Except on Reaping Day.

Realizing I have to pick out my dress before I can pick makeup and nail polish to match, I sigh before heading back into my room.

I throw open my closet and walk into it. Every year on my birthday, while my mother is busy buying me makeup I don't use, my uncle keeps himself occupied by purchasing dresses that I don't wear. Except on Reaping day.

All I ever wear is the Academy's training uniform, for school, and jeans and sweatshirts every other time. And pajamas, but I don't think that counts.

I run my hand across the row of hangers, searching for a dress that isn't too revealing or gaudy. Finally, I find one. It simply flows, only hugging my body at the waist. Its plunging neckline's middle name is practically sexy but sophisticated.

And the colors. Oh, the colors. On the bottom, it is a deep navy blue, but as it gets closer to the top, it fades to ivory.

I find a pair of blue flats with little cream-colored bows on them, and then I lay them out on the bed.

I search through my box of contacts until I find the ones labeled –baby blue-. I quickly unscrew the case and pop them into my eyes. It actually covers up my emerald greens pretty nicely. Then I look for nail polish.

Rule #1 of my house: Always do your nails first and then wait for them to dry before putting on your clothes. If you put the dress on before you paint your nails, you might accidentally spill polish on your dress (or purposely, as I once did).

After skimming through the bottles of polish, I select two, a navy blue and a peachy-yellow so pale it looks like ivory. Sitting on the cold marble floor once again, I alternate the colors on my smooth, perfectly buffed toenails. I also put a clear coat over it. Then I repeat the process on my finger nails.

If it was up to me, my nails would be bitten down to the nub. But no. Every time my mother sees me biting my nails, I get a ten minute lecture on how I have to uphold the reputation of my family.

After surveying myself in the mirror, I head downstairs to make breakfast. I don't like the way the maid cooks breakfast, so I always make my own.

I tread lightly down the stairs, trying not to wake my younger sister and my older brother.

I fry bacon as quietly as possible, and then slip back up to my room. After finishing my bacon, I glance at the clock. 5:59. Uh-oh. My family is about to be-

_Beep beep beep beep beep beep.._

Four alarm clocks go off simultaneously. I can hear my brother groan and slam his hand into his dresser, hoping to hit the clock and turn it off.

"Rise and shine, Kal. It's- oh. You're already awake," my mother says, yawning.

"Been up since three in the morning. Had a nightmare." I yawn. "Already eaten breakfast, too."

"Do me a favor, then, and help Jinx get ready while I go finish some business I had to put on hold last night."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, and wake your brother up, too."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, ma'am." I know not to disagree with my mother. The last time I did, I wound up with red slap marks that stayed on my face for a week. I was teased relentlessly for that at the Academy.

I head to Jasper's bedroom and open the door. And immediately close it. I seize the headband from my hair and put it over my nose, then open the door again. At least this time I can still breath. It smells of alcohol and smoke. I close his window, which is wide open, its drapes fluttering in the wind, then head over to his bed to wake him up.

I lean over to wake him up, but then I see it. A pair of hot pink, frilly lace underwear. I pick up a hanger from the floor and use it to pick up the underwear. Then I steel myself from what I'm about to do; I think of all the things Jasper has done to me.

When I was ten, he broke my arm on purpose. Afterwards, he laughed when he saw me crying, and then proceeded to take a video of it and share it with all his friends.

When I was fourteen, he joined other trainees at the academy in throwing rocks at me. Carla Sanders had already opened a gash on my cheek by throwing a rock to my head. Jasper broke my nose with his rock.

After that, he started being a little nicer, but I still haven't forgiven him for putting me out of training for five months by breaking my arm.

So this pair of underwear is my golden ticket. Because, and it's just my luck that this should happen now, Jasper was selected as this year's volunteer for the Hunger Games.

But if he was injured by someone, he wouldn't be able to volunteer, and that would crush him on the inside.

"Mom!" I holler at the top of my lungs.

"What the hell?" Jasper says suddenly, groaning and opening his eyes to glare at me. But when he sees the underwear, he bolts up.

"No, Kal. You can't." He sounds panicked.

"Oh, I can't? Watch me," I taunt.

"Please, I'll do anything," he says desperately.

"Oh, Jas, I don't think so. I bet you regret breaking my arm and throwing stones at me now."

And I run out of the room, with him right behind me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

"Did you call me?" my mother asks me, not looking up from her work.

"Yes." I step behind her desk. Jasper stands in the doorway, looking horrified. "To show you this."

She looks up and gasps. "Oh my god, it's your underwear!" Then her voice goes deadpan. "Do you think my work is a joke, Kalantha?"

"It's not mine!" I say angrily. "I found it in Jasper's room when I went to wake him up." I wrinkle my nose. "I would never wear something like this."

"Yes, dear, I know. Don't state the obvious. It makes you sound dull."

"Look at him, mom! He's supposed to be volunteering today, and he smells like a martini!"

That gets her attention. "Jasper, what did you do last night that I am not aware of?"

His face turns bright red. "Nothing, ma'am. I-"

"Don't lie to me, Jasper. Unless you want to tell me that you wear this kind of undergarments now and then proceed to squeeze yourself into this-" she looks at the lace with a disgusted look on her face "-_thing_ that looks like half a stripper costume. Now, what were you doing last night?"

"Well, last night was my last night in the district, so Amber and I-"

"Stop it right there, Jasper. I don't want to hear anymore of this- this disgusting, disgraceful story. You need to learn that you can't act like that. And believe me, I will punish you."

Even though Jas is eighteen, he is still terrified of our mother. She certainly does give off an aura of power, being the CEO of the largest mining company in District 1.

"If you volunteer today, and then go on to win the games, I will kill you upon your return to the district. So you will not volunteer today."

"But, mom, I-"

"You nothing. End of discussion. Now, go get ready to look ashamed."

He looks like he's gonna cry, which never happens, but he turns and walks back to his room.

"Who is Amber?" my mother wanders aloud.

"Seriously, mom?" I say.

"What?"

"Amber has been Jasper's girlfriend for, like, almost ten months now. Honestly, you should pay more attention to your children."

"She sighs. "I know. I'm just so busy…" she looks at a stack of paperwork on her desk meaningfully.

"Maybe I could help you sort those out sometime, mom."

"Yes, that would be great. Thank you so much, Kalantha. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I'm gonna go wake up Jinx now."

"Yes, yes…" my mother says, shuffling through her paperwork. She's already gone. I sigh and head to Jinx's room.

"Ooh, Kalantha, can I borrow one of _your _dresses? Yours are so much prettier than mine." Jinx whizzes around her room excitedly, talking amiably about shoes and hair and makeup and clothes, while I sit on her bed.

"Jinx, stop, you're making me dizzy. I have something to tell you."

She stops running around and hops onto my lap.

"Oh," I groan. "You're getting too big to do that."

She giggles into my sweatshirt. "I know. What did you want to tell me?"

"Well, today is your first reaping, and that means you're growing up."

"But Jas is still in the Reaping," she says. "And he's not grown up."

"Yeah, well, Jas is... an exception. But today, if they call your name, which won't happen, stay calm and stay put. Just don't move. Someone will be shouting to volunteer before you can count to three."

"What happens if no one shouts to volunteer after they call me?"

"Oh, if that happens, there is one person that who will probably volunteer."

"Who is it?"

"Me." I don't want to go into the games, but if it's Jinx or me, I'd go in her place any day.

"Now, let's get you ready."

With my help, she selects a forest green dress that brings out her eyes. I brush her curly blonde hair while she puts on her own lipstick and eye shadow. She's only twelve, but she already uses more makeup in a month that I've used in my entire life. Unlike me, she's actually popular at the academy.

"Now, you go get ready, Kalantha. You have to be beautiful too, if you are to be my knight in shining armor."

I smile and walk out of her room. But before I can get to my room, a force slams into me and pins me against the wall.

It's Jasper.

"Stupid little bitch," he sneers. "You've taken my chance at glory!"

"No," I say. "You've taken your own."

"I'm still gonna volunteer. Me and Amber are gonna go into this together."

"Wait, Amber's the girl volunteer?"

"Yes, and if you volunteer before she does, I swear to god I will break every single bone in your tiny little body within minutes of entering the arena."

"Get off me, you sick bastard," I say, kneeing him in the gut. He staggers backwards, holding his stomach and groaning. I take the opening and punch him in the nose.

The sickening crack tells me I found me mark.

He howls in pain as blood drips down his face.

I skip to my room and lock the door behind me.

After putting on my dress and curling my now-brown hair into ringlets, I hastily put on my shoes and dash out the house, after yelling that I will see everybody after the reaping.

"Damn it, I'm late," I mutter under my breath.

I run through the streets as fast as I can with this lond dress, making my way towards the Justice Building. But I get blocked.

Under an oak tree, I am surrounded by Garnet Selmer and his cronies.

I decide to play it cool. "What do you want, Selmer?"

"Your blood on my hands, Branson."

"Touch me, I dare you."

"Oh, look at that boys," he says, turning to his friends and laughing. "She's actually wearing a dress." He looks back at me. "Can you fight better in that, seeing how your legs are free? Because you'll need all the help you can get."

"Why don't we find out?" I say, bringing my fists up instinctively.

"Nah, don't fight it, Branson," a new voice says. "You look too beautiful in that dress to get splattered with the blood of thy enemies."

"Sterling," I say, relieved.

"Back off, Selmer. The lady doesn't like you, so go die in a hole."

Garnet mutters some obscenities, but he walks away. After all, if he had even tried to touch me after Jared showed up, he wouldn't be walking away.

"Thanks, Sterling. I owe you one," I say, a smile spreading across my face."

"No, Branson, you owe me a hundred. I stop them from beating you up almost every day."

"They would go away even if you didn't threaten them."

"Yeah, I'm actually starting to develop a theory that they're somewhat scared of me."

"Well, it doesn't hurt that you mess shit up pretty badly during training every day."

"Yeah, I go for that. Beautiful dress, by the way."

"Thanks. Nice, um… tie?"

'A gift from my grandmother. I know, it looks retarded."

"It's bedazzled."

"I know, I should give it to Carla Sanders after the reaping. She would probably have a heart attack."

I laugh and start to follow Sterling as he walks towards the Square, where the reaping will take place.

I admire him from the back. There's only friendship between Jared Dagney and I, nothing romantic. But he's certainly handsome. His blond hair is mussed up, but it looks a hell of a lot better that way than it does when it's brushed. I know that when he turns, those perfectly straight white teeth will be smiling at me, and those emerald green eyes will be sparkling with joy.

When we reach the square, I hold out my arm, and the lady takes my blood.

I wave goodbye to Sterling, who says he'll find me after the reaping is over, and then I head to the seventeen year old girls' section.

"Kalantha!" I turn to see Amber Golding waving at me. "Did I ever tell you that you have the best brother in the whole wide world?"

Let me get this straight- I hate Amber Golding with my whole heart. She's pretty much the bane of my existence. She makes my life miserable at the Academy- her and Carla Sanders, anyway. So a chance to ruin her chance? I'd take it any day.

"He won't be volunteering today. His nose was broken this morning in an unfortunate accident at home."

She looks over to where Jasper now stands. He stares ahead stonily. His nose looks like a balloon, and that makes me smile.

But Amber… she looks like she's about to cry. "No…" she whispers. "I can't go in without him."

"Yes, you can," I say, annoyed. "And you will. Oh, and by the way, you left your underwear at my house. You know, the hot pink lace ones from last night? That's what got Jasper in trouble."

Her face turns bright red, and she turns away from me angrily.

All that's left to do now is wait.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.**

While the mayor says his speech, I look over District 1's victors. Over twenty-six Hunger Games, we have four victors. Well, one is already dead, so in reality, we only have three.

The one that died, Tiffany Webster, drank herself to death. She won the 2nd Hunger Games, back before District 1 was considered the stupid district.

Then there is Dior Hadraniel, who won the 10th Hunger Games by bludgeoning her district partner to death in the final two. She's a little crazy, so she doesn't mentor.

Of the two that are actually fit to be mentors, I actually know one. Quinn Dagney, Jared's older sister, won the 19th Hunger Games. She mentors the boy tribute.

Our other victor, Jared Evans, who mentors the female tribute, is not here. Well, his seat is empty, so I assume he is not here. He's probably in the Capitol, doing God knows what.

I don't blame him for staying away from the district. He won the 25th Hunger Games, or the First Quarter Quell. The Quarter Quell is a special Hunger Games where the president of Panem opens an envelope with special directions for that year's games. This one, the one Jared is the victor of, we all had to vote on who our tributes were. Well, all children of reaping age had to vote. The training center told us which kids to vote for.

There was apparently a conspiracy among the sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen year olds, boys and girls alike, to vote for Jared instead of the chosen volunteer. They all hated him, for some reason that is unknown to me. Kind of like they all hate me.

So when the mayor tallied up the votes and announced his name, he was shell-shocked. His district had betrayed him. A whopping forty-eight percent votes of the votes were for him to be the male tribute. Him, out of all the eligible boys in the district.

Like I said, I don't blame him for keeping away from the district. I would too, if they had done that to me.

"Well, well, well," Drusilla Patricks says into the microphone. "Let's get started, shall we? Ladies first!"

While she rummages through the bowl of female names, I spare a moment to take her in. She looks relatively normal for a Capitol citizen, with skin the same color as mine. Her hair, which is black and very, _very_ frizzy, has little gems sprinkled in it, so every time she moves, she blinds half the people in the crowd.

She wears of black business suit, but that has silver pinstripes running up and down on it, which make her look insanely tall. Her heels must be at least seven inches tall. How can she even walk in those things?

And then there's her face. Her nose is regular, but her lips… her lips are black and sparkly, and so is her eye shadow. I can see it glittering all the way from my section.

She looks sort of like an undead zombie.

She snags her claws on a little piece of paper in the bowl, and she pulls it out crisply and opens it. "Emerson Rigby!"

After a few seconds go by, and there are no volunteers, Drusilla looks around worriedly. "Emerson, dear? Are you here today?"

And then my heart breaks. A little twelve year old girl, one who couldn't tip the scale at eighty pounds soaking wet, emerges from her section and walks up to the stage stiffly.

When she gets there, my heart cracks a little bit more. Her blonde curls bounce slightly when she looks over the crowd. Her green eyes are sparkling with tears, and her lips are trembling. Her plain dress blows in the slight breeze.

"Any volunteers?" Drusilla asks hopefully. I can tell she regrets picking Emerson's one slip of paper.

After a few seconds go by, someone from my section shouts "Well? Isn't anyone going to volunteer?"

It's only when every single person in the crowd looks at me when I realize that I am the one who shouted.

I take a deep breath. "All of you are cowards. Every single one of you." And I march up to the stage.

"_I_ volunteer as tribute." The words sound crisp coming out of my mouth, but the logical part of me is screaming _why are you volunteering to get yourself killed? You don't even know this little girl!_

When I get to the stage, I bend down and put my hands on the little girl's shoulders. "It's okay," I say. "You're safe. Go back to your family."

She smiles and runs down the stage, back to her section.

I, meanwhile, and left on the stage to deal with crap from the people of District 1.

"Oh, look, everybody," Carla Sanders shouts. "Tomboy Branson just volunteered to die. How _brave _of her."

I grab the microphone in front of me. "Shut the hell up, Carla. No one asked for your opinion."

She promptly shuts her mouth. I smirk.

"Well, how… eventful. What is your name, dear?" Drusilla asks me. She looks at me strangely. Well, of course she does. I have brown hair and blue eyes. I don't conform to district standards.

"Kal Branson."

"On to the boys, then. I guess."

She claws her way through the bowl.

I find Sterling in the crowd. He's got a determined look on his face, like he's about to lunge forward and volunteer. He meets my eyes. I silently shake my head. _No, _I tell him with my eyes._ I can't lose my own life _and_ yours_.

He rolls his eyes.

"Anson-"

"I volunteer!" a boy from the eighteen section shouts. I roll my eyes. Jasper's selection was like a bloody bone, and this boy is one of the hungry dogs who were after it.

He walks up to the stage confidentially.

When he gets to the center of the stage, he smiles to the crowd and runs a hand through his already mussed-up blond hair. He probably thinks he's God's gift to women. Just my luck that I would get stuck with him as my district partner.

"And what's your name, handsome?"

"Spencer Winthrop."

Oh God, no. Spencer Winthrop… well, I don't know him personally, but his little brother Dimitri… talk about a pain in the ass. But Jasper and I are very different, so there's a chance he's not as bad as his brother.

I look at Sterling one more time, and then my eyes find Jinx. Her big green eyes are staring at me, and her lips are trembling.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District 1, your two tributes in the 27th Annual Hunger Games, Spencer Winthrop and Kal Branson!"

The crowd cheers loudly, but I can tell that most of it is directed towards Spencer. He smiles and waves and flashes his brilliant smile, and I just stand there with a smirk on my face.

I don't need their applause to win. I don't need anything from them. If anyone is clapping for me at all, it is because they are excited to see my blood being spilled in the arena.

Guess I'll have to make sure that doesn't happen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

With her hand on my back, Drusilla pushes me forward, towards the room where I am supposed to tell my family goodbye.

"I'll come get you when the goodbyes are over," she chirps, before walking away, leaving me standing outside the door.

I turn to the silent peacekeeper standing beside the door. "If you happen to see a boy with a broken nose that wants to come in here, please don't let him in," I say.

Ho nods once, and then I walk in and close the door. Inside the room, there is almost no furniture. There is only a couch and a little side table with an empty vase resting on top.

I sit down on the plush velvet couch and run my hand over the smooth material. How many people have sat on this couch before me, crying or smiling because they are going into the arena? Tears start welling up in my eyes, but I hold them back. I can't afford to look weak.

Then the door opens, and Jinx comes in. I hold out my arms, and she jumps into them.

"Please come home, Kal," she whispers as she buries her face in my hair. "You have to."

"I will, Jinx," I say, even though I can't stand to lie to my only sister. "I promise."

"Why did you volunteer for Emerson?"

"She was only twelve. Think about her chances. She had none. She would have been cast away from the Career pack, and she would have been killed in the bloodbath. I have a much better chance than her. I couldn't let a little girl die like that. Especially when she reminds me of you."

"You are so brave, Kal," she says, planting a kiss on the tip of my nose. "And kind, and honest, and selfless, and smart. And beautiful."

"Thank you, Jinx."

"Kal?" she says. Her voice sounds like a little kid's voice.

"Yeah?"

"Who will take care of me when you're not here?"

"Mom and Jas, of course."

"But mommy is always so busy, and, well, Jas is Jas."

"I'll get mommy to take care of you. And Sterling will help her."

"Okay."

She keeps holding on to me, and we sit there together until the peacekeeper knocks on the door and says that her time is up.

"No," she says, tightening her arms around me.

The peacekeeper knocks again.

"Jinx, you have to leave now."

"No, I won't! You can't leave."

The peacekeeper comes into the room. "Ms. Branson, your time is up. Please exit the room immediately."

She shakes her head and continues to hold on to me.

"Jinx," I say forcefully, undoing her arms from around me with great difficulty. Damn, this girl has a strong grip. "Leave, Jinx. I'll be fine."

The peacekeeper takes her by the arm and starts to pull her from the room.

"No, Kal, please!" she screams. "Don't let them take me!"

"You have to go, Jinx," I say, tears forming in my eyes. "I'm sorry."

She continues to scream hysterically, and even after the peacekeeper shuts the door behind him, I can still hear her.

Tears drip down my cheeks. I will make it back, if only for her. I promised her, so I'll have to now.

I sit back down on the couch, pulling a pillow towards me and hugging it tightly.

A minute later, the door opens again. I look up, expecting to see my mother or Sterling, but instead I see… Amber.

"Amber?"

"Oh, Kalantha, I don't know what to say."

"How about… sorry for making my life miserable?"

"No, no, I mean about the reaping. I should've volunteered. Now you're going to die."

"Too late now, Amber. You face the consequences of the training center, and that's not my problem."

"You know," she huffs angrily, "I came in here, ready to apologize for what happened, and then you're rude to me. Goodbye, good riddance, and I hope Spencer wins!" She slams the door behind her.

"Bitch," I mutter under my breath as I resume hugging the pillow.

Just when I think no one else is going to visit me, the door opens again and my mother steps in.

"Kalantha," she says, sweeping me up into a hug. "I am so, so proud of you."

"Wait, what? You're not angry with me for volunteering?" I am shocked. After all, this is _my mother._

"Angry with you? You stopped a little girl from being reaped to go to a certain death." She buries her face in the crown of my hair. I may be tall, at about 5'7", but she has heels on.

"But… I thought…"

"Whatever you thought was wrong." She pulls me down with her as she sits daintily on the couch. "You go to the Capitol, you impress them all with your amazing skills, and you win. Come home, Kalantha. I know you can."

"Mom, I really don't know if I can pull that off."

"Kalantha Branson." She holds my face in her hands, and her green eyes seem to stare straight into my soul. "All your life, you've been different from the other girls your age."

"I know, Mom. Don't remind me."

"But being different isn't bad. The whole district is under the stereotype of stupidity. You have struggled your entire life to break free from that stereotype. You refuse to be seen as stupid, or not good enough, just because you're from District 1. And today, my dear, you managed it."

"How?"

"Others would have volunteered for a chance at glory, fame, and riches. But you volunteered to save a little girl. You volunteered, not with the arrogant thought that you were going to win, but with the modest thought that you were okay with dying, as long as that little girl was safe. And that is the kind of daughter I have always wanted."

She kisses my forehead. "I love you, Kalantha. I love you so much."

I sniff. "I love you too, Mom."

"Take care of Jinx, Mom. Don't ignore her."

"I won't. I promise."

"Thank you."

"You have another visitor. They were kind enough to let me visit you before them."

She stops at the door. "Come home, Kalantha. Please. You promised to help me sort my papers."

I laugh through my tears, and she smiles before opening the door and walking out.

Just before the door can close all the way, a small figure slips into the room. My heart sinks. It's not Sterling. Is he even going to visit me?

"Miss Branson?"

I snap out of my train of thought to see Emerson standing in front of me.

I smile. "Hello, Emerson."

"Thank you for volunteering for me, Miss Branson."

"Please, call me Kal."

"Kal," she says hesitantly. When she sees me smile, she relaxes.

"I can't believe they picked your slip out of thousands. I mean, you only had one. What are the odds?" I say.

"Oh, no. I had my names in there seven times."

"What?" My heart crumbles. I'm seventeen, and I only have six slips in there. "Why?"

"I've four younger siblings at home, along with my parents and I. And, well… we don't really have a lot of money, and we all need food, so I took seven tesserae this year."

"You know what, Emerson? After I win, you won't have to take any tesserae anymore. I'll make sure your family has enough food."

"Really?" she grins. "Thank you."

"Just do me a favor," I say. "You're in the same grade at the academy as my sister Jinx, right?"

She nods.

"Make sure she stays happy. Make her smile; make her laugh. I don't want her to be sad while I'm gone."

"Okay. Oh, and I have something for you." She unlatches a necklace from around her neck.

"Could this be your token? It's my mother's, but she told me I could give it to you."

I look at her, astounded. "Oh, no. I couldn't take that from you. It's too pretty."

"Please?" She holds out the necklace.

I take it gingerly and examine it. It really is beautiful. It's a little plain, being only a silver cord, but at the bottom, a diamond shaped chunk of silvery metal hangs. The end of the diamond. is sharp enough to draw blood. It probably won't be approved by the Tokens Committee, since I could probably kill someone with it if I stab had enough, but I accept it anyway. "Thank you, Emerson."

"You're welcome." She leans in closer to whisper in my ear. "I'm gonna go now. There's a cute boy outside waiting to speak to you."

I smile. "Ah, so you've met Sterling."

She nods and hugs me before skipping out the door.

I hastily wipe the tears from my eyes.

"You know, Kal, those peacekeepers are actually pretty easy to bribe." I look up and see Sterling standing there, hands in his pockets, smiling down at me lazily. "When I told him that my sister is a victor and that things would go badly for him if he didn't give me extra time to visit you, he gave me five extra minutes."

"Sterling, you should know better than that."

He throws himself down on the couch next to me. "Yeah, I _should_, but I don't."

"Unfortunately for me," I say, and he laughs and pulls me close.

I rest my head on his chest. There's nothing awkward about it. Sterling is like the brother I never had (a _good_ one), and that's that. I'm sure there could have been more between us, but I've never felt the urge to make it happen.

"So, Kal, what are you gonna do?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's your plan? Make them drop dead with your beauty, stay silent during your interview, get a low training score on purpose?"

"To tell you the truth, I really don't know."

"Figures," he says with a smile on his face. "It's you we're talking about, after all."

I elbow him lightly. "Hey!"

He laughs, but his face soon gets serious.

"Kal?"

"Yes?"

"You do know how much I love you, right?"

"Yeah, I do. I love you, too." My heart deflates. I might never see him again after today. He might see me, though. At my funeral.

"I'll, uh, take care of your family when you're, uh, you know… dead. I promise. I won't let Jasper hurt Jinx like he's hurt you."

I pull away from him. "Did you just tell me that I'm gonna die?"

"Well, kind of, but-"

"But _nothing_, Sterling. You really don't think I can win?"

"Honestly? No, I really don't. I mean, Quinn won, but she was a rocket just waiting to launch, so she had a very good chance from the start."

I thought talking to Sterling would make me feel better, but this is just making me feel worse. "You really mean that, don't you?" I say, tears welling up in my eyes for at least the fourth time today.

He must see it in my eyes, because his face softens. "No. I don't know, Kal. You can't even stop Garnet Selmer from beating you up. How the hell are you going to kill somebody?"

"You," I say angrily, standing up and backing away from him. My whole body is shaking. "We've known each other since we were eight years old, when some kid was teasing me because I couldn't throw a knife, and you punched him and gave him a black eye. You're supposed to be my best friend, and here you stand telling me that I'm not good enough to come home? You're sick. You're supposed to tell me that I _can_ do it, that I _can _win, that the odds_ are_ in my favor, but all you're telling me is that I'm definitely gonna die."

"Kal, I-"

"Kal, nothing." Tears are streaming freely down my face now. "You say you love me, but if you really did, you'd be encouraging me. I will come home, Sterling, I will. But when I do, it won't be to you. Now leave."

"Kal, I'm sorry, I-"

I seize the vase from the side table and fling it at him. He barely dodges it as he backs toward the door. "Leave, Sterling. Just leave!"

"I'm sorry, Kal."

And then he's gone, taking a piece of my broken heart with him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games**

When Drusilla comes to get me and sees the smashed vase, she rolls her eyes in disapproval before dragging me out of the room.

"Your brother visited me," Spencer whispers as he falls into step next to me. "He told me to kill you in the worst way I could think of once we're in the arena."

I toss my hair over my shoulder. "Are you really gonna take orders from the boy who was supposed to volunteer but didn't because he had a broken nose?" I sniff.

He looks at me sideways. "I guess not." He pauses, and then: "Why would he want me to kill you in the first place? I mean, he's your brother?"

"Remember how I said he has a broken nose, and that was why he couldn't volunteer?" I give a small laugh, after he nods. "Yeah, well, _I'm_ the one who broke it."

"Wait so he wanted me to destroy _your_ chance of glory because _you_ destroyed _his_?"

"Congratulations, you deserve an intelligence award," I say.

"I swear," Drusilla says to herself behind us. "They just get ruder and ruder every year."

I spin around and continue to walk backwards. "Are you listening to our conversation?"

She eyes me.

"And you say _we _are the rude ones," I say snootily, before flipping my hair over my shoulder and turning back around. Spencer rolls his eyes, but I can see he's smiling.

Peacekeepers open the giant set of double doors that connect the Justice Building to District 1's train station, and all three of us (Drusilla, Spencer, and me) walk through quickly.

"Come on," Drusilla says sharply. "The train leaves in three minutes."

"They can't leave without us, so just calm the hell down, Drusilla," I say, beginning to get annoyed with her.

"Young lady, you watch your language!"

"Whatever."

We board the train with no problems. Drusilla guides us to the dining car, where I see a familiar figure slouched in one of the chairs around the table.

"Quinn!" I exclaim.

"Why, if it isn't little Miss Kalantha Branson herself!" Quinn rises from her chair and hugs me. "You look beautiful."

"Do you guys, uh, know each other?" Spencer asks, his eyes narrowed. Of course he's worried- his mentor is currently hugging someone who is technically out to kill him.

I pull away from her hastily. "She's my best friend's sister."

Quinn looks at Spencer as she pulls a strand of thick blonde hair out of her line of vision. "Don't worry, I'm not biased. The boy tribute last year was my ex-boyfriend's brother, and I still got him to the final five."

"Yes, because that reassures me," Spencer says.

Quinn just laughs and sits back down. Spencer sits across from her and Drusilla sits next to him, so I take the seat next to Quinn.

"So, Spencer," Quinn says around the strawberry she's just shoved into her mouth, "Tell me a little about yourself."

"Well, I have two little brothers, Carter and Hudson," he says, sounding a little uncomfortable. "Uh, my preferred weapons are spears. Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"Really, that's all you've got? Well, _this_ is certainly not impressing me," Quinn says boredly, taking a sip of wine from her glass on the table. "Tell me about _you_. Like, girlfriend, friends, that sort of stuff. Also, the crowd loves scars. Do you have any scars?"

Spencer looks extremely uncomfortable. "I, uh-"

"God, Quinn," I say. "Give the boy a break."

Spencer shoots me a grateful look before turning his attention back to Quinn.

"Well," Quinn sighs, "since nothing apparently happens in your life, let me tell you about mine." She takes another sip of wine before continuing. I pick up a glass of water sitting on the table in front of me and take a sip. "I have a seventeen year-old brother named Sterling, who really needs to ask her-" she gestures at me with her glass "-to just go ahead and marry him-" I choke on my water "-because he's never had a real girlfriend in his entire freaking life." She hands me a napkin without even sparing me a glance. I cough out a thank you after wiping the water from my mouth.

She takes yet another sip of wine. "I won the 19th Annual Hunger Games when I was fifteen years old by stabbing the girl from District 4 to death. Since I turned eighteen, my life has been a living hell." She pauses and glares at Drusilla, who looks at her blankly. "Before I won the Hunger Games, I had a best friend named Elaine and a boyfriend named Dimitri. Dimitri is dead now, a diamond mine accident, and Elaine… well, she was reaped as a tribute in the 22nd Hunger Games. She was beheaded in the final Career showdown."

Spencer just stares at her. I look down at my hands, which look the same as they did this morning when I painted my nails, despite my life having been changed forever.

"Well, I think I'm gonna go shower," Quinn says, standing up and pouring the remainder of the wine in her dress down the drain of a little sink at the bar. "Spencer, be ready to tell me more about your life when I get out. I can't help somebody who won't let me know anything about them. Oh, and Kal?"

I look up at her. "Yeah?"

"Jared called me and told me that he'll meet with you and talk to you after the chariot parade tomorrow."

"Why isn't he here right now?"

"He's busy in the Capitol. He's running a few errands for President Morgan."

I narrow my eyes at her. "What do you mean by 'errand'?"

"Nothing," she says, stiffening. "Just a few business matters."

"Okay." I don't believe her. Whatever he's doing, I'm going to find out, because I don't think it's fair that I'll miss a whole day of planning with my mentor because he's running a few 'errands' for President Morgan. Why can't someone else run errands for him?

I am pulled from my train of thought by a tap on my shoulder. I look up to see a girl in a black uniform. Her red hair is pulled back in a tight bun. She holds out a piece of paper. A menu. I take it from her gingerly, and she steps back a foot or two and waits for me to finish reading it.

As I look through food choices, I only see one that I would like to eat. Lamb stew.

I look up at the girl. "Is this lamb stew any good?"

She doesn't answer.

Drusilla makes a noise in her throat.

I look over to see Spencer looking at me with a strange expression on his face.

"What?" I say angrily. "That's a perfectly valid question."

"She's an avox," Spencer whispers harshly. "She can't talk; her tongue has been cut out."

My hand flies to my mouth in shock.

"I'm so sorry," I say to the girl. She nods once. "I guess I'll have the lamb stew."

She nods again and takes the menu from me. Spencer and Drusilla tell her what they want, and then she takes their menus and leaves.

My eyes settle on the flowers in the vase that sits on the table, but when I feel eyes on my, I look up. Spencer is staring out the window behind me, but Drusilla is watching me with her eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"How did you not know that girl was an avox?"

"Was I _supposed _to?"

"Yes, you're from District 1! The richest district! Your family has a maid, doesn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but unlike you Capitol folk, we don't reward our workers by cutting off essential body parts."

Across the table, Spencer snorts.

"Avox are criminals turned servants. They've done wrong, and this is their punishment."

"Okay, okay, my bad. Sorry I'm not as high and mighty as you are."

Spencer outright laughs, but quickly shuts up when Quinn comes through the door on the other side of the train car, a towel wrapped around her head.

"Well, my interrogation of you is going to have to wait, my dears," she says loftily. "Because this year's Hunger Games channel has just started showing a recap of the reapings."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

When I see the boy from District 2 that volunteers, I know I'm in trouble.

"Ignatius Viscezhi," Quinn says, reading from an ultra thin tablet in her hands. Some high-tech Capitol device. "Also called Iggy. Eighteen years old, 6'5", a solid two hundred pounds, ninety-five percent of that most likely pure muscle. I introduce to you this year's leader of the Career pack."

The guy on the screen looks like her could wrap one hand around my waist and crack me in half just by squeezing. I'm now starting to sympathize with what Sterling said, about there being a slim chance of me winning. If anyone can take me down, it's this guy.

He's actually pretty good looking, medium-length black hair and- from what I can see- light, sky blue eyes. Also not bad for him- his muscles.

But when I see his district partner, I almost laugh. She's, like, a foot and a half shorter than him, and she's rail thin. She looks like someone from the outer districts. But her smile… it's definitely a Career type of smile. She wears a smirk so evil looking, it practically says _look at me, I'm gonna kill you all._

"Delaney Aurielum," Quinn says. "Sixteen years old, 5'1", about one hundred ten pounds. From what I can see, roughly fifty percent of that is muscle. She may look small, but I'll bet she packs a mean punch."

"How do you know all this?" Spencer says in wonder. "You know, from just looking at them?"

"When it's life or death for others, you learn to read people," she says grimly.

District 3 is nothing special, with the most noticeable thing about its tributes being the boy's thick pair of glasses.

When District 4 comes up, we all pay special attention. District 4 is a relatively new Career district, with its tributes only being in the pack for the last nine years or so. They were new when Quinn's games took place.

Unlike District 2, the girl gets called first. She has long, wavy black hair that flutters in the wind, and when the cameras zoom in on her, her sea-green eyes have a bloodthirsty glint in them.

"Looks like we just lost our title of 'prettiest female tribute'," Drusilla mutters unhappily.

"_Drusilla_," Quinn says sharply. "Kal is_ not_ ugly."

"Yes, but she's not necessarily very pretty either, is she?" Spencer cringes.

"That's okay," I say breezily, trying to cover up the fact that her comment really hurt my feelings. "I make up for my lack of beauty by being able to decapitate people with one stroke of a sword. And, you know, be an all-around badass at martial arts."

Quinn smiles. "That's right."

"Besides, Drusilla," I say, flipping my hair over my shoulder. "I dye my hair brown, and I wear blue contacts. I look just like every other girl from District 1." I quickly pop both contacts out of my eyes. "See? I have green eyes." Then I throw my contacts at her.

"Kal, stop," says Quinn wearily. "Now, the girl." She pauses the television. "Her name is Halimeda Thompson. Apparently, she won't answer to Halimeda. Only Hali. Sixteen years old, looks to be about 5'8", and she probably weighs about 140 pounds. From looking at her, I can tell she's not very far from the edge."

We all know what that means. Insane tributes are, well, insane. They're the worst kind to have to deal with. I've seen Games where people go insane and kill their district partner. It's _not _pretty.

Quinn unpauses the television. The boy gets called, and he cements Drusilla's theory that we've lost our title as district with the prettiest tributes.

Sea-green eyes, brown hair turned bronze by the sun, great build- I know what his interview angle is going to be.

Quinn makes a clucking sound. "Poor boy. He doesn't know what a curse that beauty is going to be if he ends up being the victor." Spencer looks at her sideways, but she ignores him. "Manson Griffot. Seventeen years old, about 6'1" or 6'2", roughly 170 pounds. He's going to have a _lot_ of sponsors."

"Not if he's a jerk," Spencer says quietly.

"No, it doesn't really matter what kind of personality he has. They'll like him anyway, just because he's sexy." She pauses. "I mean, look at me. I'm, like, the queen bitch most of the time, but they all love me."

I make an unladylike snorting sound, which makes Quinn laugh and Drusilla frown.

"I'm leaving," Drusilla says, standing up. "We'd better be arriving in the Capitol soon, because I can't stand another minute with you three."

We watch the rest of the reaping in silence. The only tributes worth noticing are the girl from District 7, who looks strong and capable of splitting somebody's head in half with an axe, and the boy from District 10, who looks like he's a sculpture made of pure muscle.

"Well, you two better get some sleep," Quinn says. "You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

"But I'm not tired," I whine. I know it's safe to whine with Quinn.

"Then stare at the wall until you are."

I give her a look.

"Fine. I don't know, play cards or something. Just be in bed by midnight."

I glance at the clock on the wall. It's only ten o'clock.

"Spencer, you wanna play cards with me?"

"Um… sure?"

"Good, because I was gonna make you do it either way."

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyway.

Quinn comes back into the room and throws a pack of unopened cards a t me. "Knock yourself out. Literally, I'm not kidding when I tell you to get some sleep. During my games, I didn't get any sleep the night before the parade, and I almost fell asleep in the chariot."

Spencer spreads the cards out on the table. I teach him how to play a game, and we play for a little more than two hours.

At 12:30, I glance up at the clock. "Crap, it's past twelve o'clock. We've got to go to sleep. Quinn's going to kill us if she finds out we're still awake."

"And then she would get arrested and thrown into prison. Or turned into an avox. Besides, she can't legally fuss at _you._ She's not technically your mentor."

"She's my best friend's sister. I don't want to get on her bad side."

"Okay. I'll pick up the cards. You go on ahead," he says, starting to gather up the cards on the table.

"No, you go, I'll clean up," I say. "Like you said, she can't fuss at me."

"Using my own words against me?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "That's just cruel."

"No, Spencer, I'm serious," I argue. I make a grab at the cards, but he sweeps them away from me. "I'm not kidding, Spencer. Give me the damn cards."

"Chivalry is my game, Kalantha. Just let me pick them up."

"No, let _me_."

I take another swipe at the cards, but he holds them just out of my reach.

"C'mon, Spencer. Go before Quinn-"

"Go before Quinn does what?" says a voice from the doorway. We both freeze. "Catches both of you breaking curfew?"

"Damn it, Spencer," I whisper under my breath. "What did I tell you?"

"What the _hell _are you guys doing, playing tag with the cards?" she says, referring to our awkward position of him leaning away from the table with the cards in his right hand, which is held up in the air, and me halfway through a lunge across the table, my hand reaching out towards Spencer's.

"We were, uh, arguing about who was going to pick of the cards," Spencer says, clearing his throat.

She rolls her eyes and drags a hand down her face, sighing loudly. "You two have some serious problems."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games**

"My, my, I wish you had blonde hair," one of the members of my prep team say. I think her name is Fausta. She has blue skin and green hair, but I really don't want to focus on the details.

"I do have blonde hair," I growl.

"Yes, but it's dyed this awful brown color," the sole male member says. Lucian is name, and apparently purple is his game. Everything on him is purple. _Everything_.

I stay silent for the rest of the time. I do not complain when they rip the wax strips from my legs, even though it hurts like hell. All the tributes must be prepped on the same floor of the same building, because once I hear a ripping sound followed by a girl's scream.

"Go through the doo marked '1F'. Tiberius will meet you in there," Lucian says.

And they push me away.

After entering the room and shutting the door behind me, I sit down on one of two chairs in the room. I am covered in nothing but a towel.

"You must be Kalantha."

I look up to see a man with orange spikes on his head. Funny, I didn't hear the door open or his footsteps. Unnatural electric blue eyes glare down at me.

The man reaches out and takes a lock of my hair between his fingers. I flinch, but he doesn't pull away.

"You would be so much prettier if you had blonde hair," says the man, who must be Tiberius but doesn't bother to introduce himself.

"Yes," I say through gritted teeth. "So I've been told."

"Here, let's get you into your costume for the parade tonight."

A knot twist in my stomach, but I ignore it.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he says as he pulls something glittery out of the bag behind his back. "I designed and sewed it myself."

"It's gorgeous," I say meekly. "But where's the rest of it?"

Instead of answering, he just looks at me and laughs.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Wow," Spencer says, taking me in." "Not much for covering up, are you?"

"Shut up," I snarl. "I'm about to cry."

"No, no, don't do that," says Spencer's stylist, Marcia. "You'll ruin your makeup."

"Does it look like I care?"

She looks away. Apparently she isn't used to resistance.

I look like a stripper. My outfit is golden, sparkly, skintight, sleeveless, and the skirt barely comes down to my mid-thigh. It's almost like a bathing suit, except this one is almost transparent pretty much everywhere except for my breasts and the skirt, which only barely covers my privates. The neckline plunges all the way down to my naval, and the back is practically non-existent.

At the sound of whispers, I look up. A few yards, the girls from Districts 2 and 4, Delaney and Halimeda, stand together whispering and glancing my way every few seconds.

I smile weakly and raise a hand in greeting. They move away from each other quickly.

At least they look like respectable.

Delaney wears golden armor that is skintight but not clingy. She holds a war helm under her arm, but when her mentor tells it on, she obliges and slips it over her head. Her hair streams down her back. Now she looks dangerous, like a warrior that's ready to bash some heads. She also looks really pretty, but she has a _lot_ of makeup on her face.

I refused to let my prep team put on any makeup except for eye shadow, lipstick, and mascara. I think they went overboard on all three.

Halimeda shows a bit more skin than Delaney does, but not by much. She's dressed like a mermaid, which makes sense since she's from the fishing district. She wears a tail-like thing and a bikini top, but it's clear her stylist didn't want to make her look like a prostitute.

The anthem starts suddenly, and Spencer pulls me into our chariot.

He looks good as well. His suit is made with the same material as my "dress", if you can even call it that.

As our chariot rolls into the open, I take a deep breath. It's alright. I can do this. I'm here to win, not to impress and make friends. I won't let my costume get me down.

And then someone cat-calls.

The entire audience laughs and starts to cheer. I hear many more cat-calls.

I shut my eyes tightly in an effort to keep myself from crying.

From beside me, I hear Spencer whisper that it's okay, that it's just for show and that this isn't the real me, but I block him out to.

The chariot lurches to a stop and I open my eyes. President Snow stands at a podium on the second floor of the building that our chariot has stopped in front of. He's realtively new, having only became the president of Panem about four or five years ago. He addresses the crowd, who cheers, but I am too busy making eye contact with the man behind hin to listen to what he's saying.

The man has blonde hair that curls over his ears and dark eyes. He keeps his gaze trained on my face the entire time he's looking at me, instead of running his eye up and down my body like almost everyone else I've seen tonight.

The president finished his speech and the crowd cheers again as all twelve chariot lurch forward. I look away from the man.

After the chariot stops, Spencer offers me a hand as I start to step off the chariot. I accept after a brief hesitation. Help is much needed when you wear six inch tall heels.

"My God, you're freezing," he says after letting go of my hand. "Do you want my jacket?"

I shake my head silently before sitting on the edge of the chariot and pulling the heels off my feet.

Holding them in my hands, I march up to Delaney and Halimeda, who are looking at me and whispering again.

"I know you're talking about me." I say. At least they have the good grace to look embarrassed. "I know what you're saying. You both think I'm a slut."

They both blush, but say nothing. I continue. "I just thought I should tell you that I was forced to wear this. I didn't get a choice. Do you think I want to be called a slut? Do you think I'm okay with letting my younger sister back home see me dressed like this? Of course I don't. So just… don't judge me until you actually know me."

I leave them behind looking completely shell-shocked as I head towards the elevators.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I go straight to my room, turn on the sink faucet in the bathroom so no one can hear me, and then sit on my bed and burst into tears.

In less than a day, they've reduced to being the stereotypical slut from District 1.

I've spent almost every waking moment since I was nine years old trying to break out of that stereotype.

All that work, all that resistance, gone in just a few hours. What does my mother think of me after seeing that? Is she ashamed?

Oh my God, what does _Sterling_ think of me? I shouldn't care what he think of me anymore, since he can't even convince himself that I have even a slim chance in these games, but his opinion has been valuable to me for years.

With tears still streaming down my face, I strip off my slinky costume. I ball it up and throw it in the trash can.

Someone knocks on the door.

Swearing under my breath, I wipe my eyes hastily and wrap a towel around myself after turning the sink off.

I run to the door and throw it open.

Standing in front of me is the guy from the balcony.

"Hold on a second," I say, my face turning red, and I slam the door shut.

Dropping the towel, I run to the bureau on the other side of the room, beside the bed.

"Pajamas, pajamas…" I mutter as I rummage through the clothes in the drawers at lightning speed.

I quickly pull on a bra (That's right- Tiberius wouldn't let me wear a bra under my costume), underwear (no underwear either), a shirt, and a pair of sweatpants before running back to the door and throwing it open.

"Hi," I say breathlessly.

"Forty-nine seconds. That's a new record," the man says, his eyes trained on his watch.

Then he looks up at me and bursts into a fit of laughter.

"What? " I say, running my hands through my hair. "What are you laughing at?"

"You look like a raccoon," he says, throwing his head back and laughing as he slips past me into my room and sits on my bed.

"Um, look, that's great that I look like an animal and all, but I don't, like, know who you are, so I'm going to have to ask you to leave," I say, using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe around my eyes. The fabric comes away black.

"As much as I would like to go and get a drink instead of being here," he says, leaning back against my pillow, "I have been ordered to come and talk to you about God knows what."

"Listen," I say, running up to him and shoving my arm under his chin, pinning him to the headboard, "I don't know who you are, so unless you want me to shove my elbow into your throat, I suggest you get off my bed."

"It's not your bed," he says. "It belongs to the Capitol, just like everything else in this goddamned country."

_Wham!_ I shove my elbow into his throat.

Or at least I try to. He reaches out with amazing speed and slips his hand in between my elbow and his throat.

"You know, the next time you try to assault a victor," he says, pushing me away like I weigh nothing, "you might want to make sure they're unconscious first."

"Victor?" I say, righting myself.

"Yeah, victor."He extends a hand after standing up. "I'm Jared Evans."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

"Ah, the guy who runs errands for the President." I take his hand and shake it. "Well, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

His face turns cold.

"What kind of errands do you run?" I continue, ignoring his facial expression.

"I don't think that's information you need to know."

"I mean, doesn't she know that you can groceries delivered these days?"

He rolls his eyes.

"So why are you in my room?"

"I came to talk you. I just met you. Quinn and Spencer have had a whole day to start planning his strategy."

"And you plan to make up for that by keeping me awake all night?"

He looks down at his watch. "It's only eight o'clock."

"Fine. What do you want to talk about?" I say, sitting down on the bed.

He goes to sit next to me, but I hold out my hand to block him. "Oh, no," I say testily. "Unlike some girls from our lovely district, I actually have a shard of decency."

He eyes me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I roll my eyes. "Nothing."

He sits on the floor. I look him over. His blonde hair, as I noticed earlier, is curled over his ears. His eyes, like almost everyone else in District 1, are emerald green. Standing up, he's about 6'3", and he's slim but muscular. He's actually pretty cute. His only fault is the scar, and it's actually not that noticeable. It's only a faint white line that starts between his eyebrows, runs down his nose and across his right cheek, and disappears under his ear.

"What's the scar from?" I say, pointing to his cheek.

"Not very subtle, are you?" he jokes. "It's from my games. If you remember from watching, after I was so lovingly betrayed by our district, I was a mess. It messed up my fighting. During the bloodbath, I had my guard down, and, someone- I can't remember who it was- raked a knife across my face. Barely missed my eye. I almost died from an infection."

"Yeah, I remember," I say, recalling in my head the image of him getting knifed. "Do you think that'll happen to me?" I add, unconsciously toughing my cheek.

He gives me a lopsided grin. "Only if you're lucky, Kallie."

"No one calls me Kallie. It's Kal. Or Kalantha, if you want to make yourself feel sophisticated."

"Well, it looks like you just got a new nickname, _Kallie_."

There's awkward silence for a few seconds, before he says, "Nice dress you were wearing, by the way."

I frown. "That's not a dress, that's a stripper costume. I'll never wear anything like that again."

"I was talking about your reaping dress," he says coolly.

"Oh." I'm kind of surprised; I hope it doesn't show on my face. "Um, thanks?"

"And you're right. That costume tonight _was _a stripper costume."

"I need to talk to Tiberius about that."

"I'll do it. But I'm confused- why are you so against wearing that? The girl tribute from last year wore costumes similar to that, and she was fine with it."

"I'm sick of being branded as a dumb slut just because I'm from District 1. I'm smart, or at least I think I am, and I'm not into dressing up like a whore, if you know what I mean?"

"So you're saying you don't fit in with other girls back home?"

"Are you kidding? I'm like the proverbial giraffe in a herd of zebras." I pause. "Well, actually, that's a bad comparison, because giraffes are ugly. They're like, I don't know, diamonds, and I'm the lone chunk of coal."

"I'll never look at coal the same way again," he mutters.

"I just mean that I hate being grouped into a stereotype. Downstairs, before and after the chariot parade, my so called "allies" were practically calling me a slut right in front of me. I actually went up to Delaney and Hali and told them to stop judging me, because I was forced to wear that."

"Hey, look at me," he says. "I was voted into the Hunger Games because I didn't fit in, either."

"We should start a band of misfits."

"How about we save planning to start a club until after you get out of the arena?"

"_If _I get out, you mean," I automatically correct.

"Step One to winning: Always assume that you're going to be the victor. If you worry, you get districted. And distraction is synonymous with death."

"Well, that cheers me up."

"Yeah, I usually have that effect on people."

I roll my eyes. "Anyway, when you talk to Tiberius, I want you tell him that my interview dress better be floor-length, with no plunging neckline, and it has to have a back. Also, it cannot be transparent anywhere. I am _not_ going to look like a prostitute again."

"So I guess we're eliminating sexy as an interview angle?" He fiddles with his watch absently.

I sit up from my slouching position. "Covering up means I can't be sexy?"

"No, it's just… things are different here than back home. If you wear something like the dress you just described, the Capitol citizens are going to think you are some sort of conservative freak. No offense."

"Fine, just tell him that it can't be transparent, it must almost reach my knees in terms of length, and it has to have at least a little bit of back. And the neckline can't go beneath my ribs."

He smiles. "That's better, Kallie."

"I mean, just because I don't dress trashy means I'm not pretty? That's almost as bad me apparently needing blonde hair to be from District 1."

"What?" Of course he doesn't know what I mean. Of course he doesn't- he's never met me before, so he doesn't know that I dye my hair.

"It's just a stupid thing I do, dying my hair. Distancing myself from the other girls. Brown hair makes me different. There's an assumption among people that blondes are dumber than brunettes or redheads, and I didn't want to be assumed as stupid."

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with you apparently needing blonde hair?" Jared asks blankly, still confused

"At least three people have told me today that I would be so much prettier with blonde hair. Like, I have naturally blonde hair, but I don't want it. So what if I'm not pretty? I'm not here for a beauty pageant; I'm here to kill or be killed."

"Glad you've got your priorities straight," he says, standing up and brushing his hands on the legs of his pants.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"Well, you've got training tomorrow, so you need to get to sleep early, and I've got another errand to run," he says, heading towards the door.

"So that's it? That's our talk? No personal questions?"

He looks back at me. "Do you want me to ask you personal questions? Because I think that would make this conversation very, _very_ awkward."

When he sees me hesitate, he smirks. "That's what I thought."

"No personal questions is fine with me, but I watched Quinn grill yesterday on the train. Don't you want to know more about me?"

"Why would I want to know about you?"

"You know, so you can tell sponsors about me. Plus, if there are mutts in the arena… like a jabberjay or something… don't you want to know whose voices they're using on me?"

He opens the door and steps out. "After last year's disaster of a tribute I had to mentor, I don't think I want to know more about you. I've already given you a nickname, which is the first step to getting attached to someone. And when you get attached to someone, you almost always end up getting hurt. And I've already been hurt enough to last a lifetime. So, no thanks, I would not like to know more about you."

And he closes the door behind him, leaving me staring after him in disbelief.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Spencer wakes me up the next morning. "Quinn told me to come and get you up," he says. "Training starts in forty minutes."

"Thanks," I say. After he leaves, I open my wardrobe to find only one pair of actually clothes amongst all the pajamas. It's a black shirt with red and grey stripes on the side, complete with black workout pants and black combat boots. On the sleeves and back of the shirt, a white box sewn onto the shirt surrounds the number 1. Of course. Even in training, where everything is for everybody, we are separated from each other.

I sigh as I walk over to my mirror and French-braid my hair as fast as I can. It's looks okay, but my hair looked better last night, even if my clothes didn't.

When I'm dressed, I walk to the dining room and collapse down in a chair. I take the plate in front of me and start to pile food onto it, but I stop when I hear Drusilla clear her throat. I look up to find everybody staring at me. Drusilla, Spencer, Quinn, Tiberius…

Well, everyone except Jared.

"Good morning," Drusilla says, sounding a little miffed.

I clear my throat. "Um… good morning?"

She rolls her eyes and continues her conversation with Tiberius about Capitol fashion.

"Where's Jared?" I ask Quinn, before shoving a piece of bacon into my mouth.

"Oh, he's…" she swallows and glances at the elevator door. "He's out."

I roll my eyes. "Well, _obviously_. But where is he?"

She gives me a look of pity. I hate it. "I don't know," she says finally.

"Then why isn't he here?"

She says nothing.

"You know why, Quinn. Tell me!"

"He's out running more errands for the president."

"He's my mentor!" I exclaim. "He's supposed to be here for me!"

"Well, it's not his fault," she counters.

Spencer sits in his chair silently, his eyes flicking back and forth between us like he's watching a tennis match.

"I don't care whether it's his fault or not. He needs to be here. Maybe that's why out female tribute did so badly last year."

Quinn visibly flinches, but stays quiet.

I go back to eating breakfast.

After a few minutes, Drusilla checks her watch and clicks her tongue impatiently. "Spencer, Kalantha, we've got to get going in a minute or two. You're going to be late for training if we don't hurry."

We both stand up and start to walk towards the elevator.

Quinn puts a hand on my shoulder. "Hold on a minute," she says quietly.

I sit back down next to her. "What do you want?"

"I know you want Jared to be here. You really do. And he wants to be here. After what happened last year… he's going to try a lot harder. He may seem distant at times, but he's just afraid of getting too close to a girl marked for death."

"Why are you telling me this?"

She pats my hand sympathetically. "Because it's not his fault that he's not here. If he had his way, he would have woken you up at the crack of dawn and started planning your strategy with you. That's the kind of person he is. He's extremely dedicated to whatever he does. The president is forcing him to stay away. He's only missing this because he has to."

I pull my hand away and stand. "And I'm going to have to pay the consequences for it."

She looks shocked, but she manages to keep her voice calm. "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your pity, sister."

She turns away from me. "I don't want you to call me that anymore. You're not my sister. You never were."

"But we were like sisters. _You're_ the one who started calling me that when I was eight."

"And _you're_ the reason I'm ending it. First Sterling, now Jared…"

I freeze. "What about Sterling?"

"I called him last night, to tell him how you were doing. He said you threw a vase at him during the goodbyes."

"But did he tell you what he said to me?"

"No."

I quickly sit back down again. "Well, _sister_, you should probably know about it before you judge me."

"Just tell me after training. Which you should be going to _right now_."

I flush. "Right. Okay. I'll tell you later. Bye."

The next time I speak is in the elevator.

"What was that about?" Spencer asks.

"Her idiot brother."

"Idiot?"

"Yeah. He told her I threw a vase at him during the goodbyes."

"Did you?"

"Well… yes, but I only did it after I screamed at him to leave and he refused to move."

"Why did you want him to leave?"

"Well, it was all okay until he said that he would watch over my family after I died. And then it just kind of escalated from there."

"He told you that you were gonna die?"

"I know, right? Even if you know you're best friend's going to get murdered in some sick, twisted way, you don't tell them that you don't believe in them enough for them to beat the odds."

"He sounds like a douchebag."

"Oh, he is."

Silence resumes its hold on the compartment, until Spencer starts to talk again.

"So did you and Jared make a plan last night for today?"

"Me and Jared? Hell no. But make no mistake, I definitely do have one."

"What is it?"

I smile. "You'll see soon enough."

**~5 minutes later~**

"So what weapons do you two use?" Iggy asks, gesturing to us. The career pack of this year stands in a circle.

"Spears," says Spencer.

I twirl a loose strand of hair idly between my fingers. "Swords."

"No way!" says Iggy excitedly. "I use swords too! What's your favorite part of sword fighting?"

If I was being myself right now, I would say that feeling of pure power you get when you're in a fight. The feeling that you're invincible as long as you're holding what has become an arc of pure terror in your hands. But since I'm not acting myself right now, I simply giggle and say, "When you're picking which sword you're gonna use in a fight. It's almost like you're shopping. But instead of shopping for clothes, it's like you're shopping for death."

I can almost see his opinion of my decrease the second he hears that. I smile on the inside. Good. Let him underestimate me.

Halimeda rolls her eyes. "Why aren't they just starting already?"

Delaney gives a small laugh. "We still have three minutes and forty three seconds until it officially starts," she says, with a single glance at the clock. And then: "Hey, why isn't Manson over here with us?'

Halimeda looks over at him with a look of disgust. "He says he's going to go it alone. He's such an idiot."

"A_ hot_ idiot," I say quickly.

She looks over at me with a looks of loathing. "Whatever. He's still an idiot." A look of relish spreads across her face. "I'm going to kill him so hard."

Spencer gives me a sideways glance.

The head trainer finally calls everyone's attention to him and gives a speech about the different stations in the training room. I don't listen. When he releases us, I wander around for a bit.

I've decided I'm not going to do the sword station. I want people to underestimate me, think I'm bad at everything. I won't lower myself to the level of having to force myself to be unskilled with swords. I refuse to let myself do it.

Instead, I'll stay away from swords and knives, and I'll focus on axe-throwing, archery, and spear-throwing. I'm not terrible at those, but it won't hurt my pride as much to pretend to be bad at those.

When I wander over to the archery station, the girl from District 10 is already there. She looks up, sees me, and starts to back away as a look over fear spreads across my face. I smile and wave at her before picking up a silver bow from the rack. She slowly comes back, now unafraid of me, and picks the bow she was using back up. I pick up an arrow from a quiver hanging off the bow rack and nock it onto the bowstring.

But I purposefully nock it on the wrong side. When I take aim at the target and release the string, it flies straight into the wall.

The girl from District 10 looks at me out of the corner of her eye.

I shoot a few more, making sure they hit the wall, before I decide it's time to make a little progress.

As I nock my arrow on the right side, the girl from 10 takes aim at the target in front of her and fires. It hits the bullseye on the target painted over the heart of the dummy.

She's good, and she knows it. The instructor praises her marksmanship, but she just stands there with a smirk on her face, looking straight at me.

I feel my cheeks heat up as I look away from her and focus my attention back on the target in front of me. I want to get a bullseye just to wipe that smirk off her face, but I know that I must keep her ignorant. I must make the arrow barely hit the target.

And it just makes it. I throw my hands up into the air. "I actually hit something!" The trainer starts to clap.

The girl looks like she's about to cry from laughing so hard.

**~Two hours later~**

When lunch starts, I sit down across the table from Iggy and his full plate of food. Halimeda sits down on one side of me with her plate, and Spencer sits down on the other side.

"Where's your food, Kal?" he asks.

I give a fake gasp. "Don't be stupid, Spencer. I have to make sure I'll be able to fit into my interview dress. Duh."

Next to me, Halimeda almost chokes on her food.

My plan is going great.


End file.
